


Well, Touché

by YogurtTime



Category: Johnny's Entertainment, KAT-TUN (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Frottage, Hand & Finger Kink, M/M, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-23
Updated: 2011-08-23
Packaged: 2019-01-18 07:07:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12383328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YogurtTime/pseuds/YogurtTime
Summary: Fingers are for flicking switches and turning things on.





	Well, Touché

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in August 2011.

 

 

“…so pretty.”

Not really the first time he’d uttered it. Just like always, Maru doesn’t react. It’s just an utterance after all and Maru doesn’t bat an eye.

Maru is drawing to pass time, delicate wrist resting on a broad sheet of paper, pencil resting on his index finger, his sharp knuckles flexing with the deepest impressions of the lines he sketches.

Junno is aware he’s been staring for the last ten minutes. They’re alone in the dressing room anyway; no one around to comment. The moment they sit in is absurd to begin with. Another PV shoot; a waiting interim; Maru seated on one of the sofas, leaning over the short green room table, large page of half a sketch spread in front of him. On the other end of the same sofa is Junno, sitting neatly, hands on his knees, watching Maru intently.

Maru makes a thoughtful moue while he twirls his pencil right over the end of his long thumb. A quick whirl of technique and Junno smiles. Delightful.

Junno likes the grooves between Maru’s knuckles, the way the angular tendons spread up to his wrist, the dusting of peach fuzz over the back of his palm and the naked, life-filled colour of his fingernails. His fingers alone look like artistry. Long and careful; deadly and full of an ardent symmetry. Just looking at cream-coloured things makes Junno contemplate the thin texture of Maru’s wrists. The delicacy of those barely visible blue veins seem as though they would be sensitive. Sensitive in _that_ way. Junno can imagine his own thumb making a near malicious glide upward over that vein… to relish Maru’s swallow or his breath catch.

Weird.

Junno’s shoulders shirk up with a bit of internal embarrassment. He hopes with a little helpless smile that none of that was visible on his face; if Maru were to actually look at him…

Of course he doesn’t. Ratio-wise, Maru spends more time looking at the ceiling in exasperation than he does frowning at Junno with any form of long, judging silence.

Instead, Maru chooses then to lean back in his chair stretching those spindly arms out, beautiful fingers crawling over the back of the couch as he scrunches his eyes shut and yawns-- shirt rides up for a titillating glimpse of sandy stomach. Junno sighs a little morosely.

Fine sharp eyes finally slide open and Maru’s head turns by some act of intuitive volition toward Junno. The nearly exanimate, languor in Maru sharpens upon spotting Junno’s stare; his arms drop, palms sliding down his thighs. Junno flickers a grin at him.

Only weirder.

Surprisingly though, Maru shoots him an enigmatically benign look before returning to his sketch. “Find something to do, Taguchi,” he mutters, faint smile still curving his lips.

Junno makes a slight sound of obedience, reaching for a magazine. He kicks his legs up on the table before slouching into the arm of the sofa, flipping open to a page he doesn’t look at. Maru taps the end of his pencil on his bottom lip, the tip of it pinched neatly between two fingers. Junno thinks of the strip of skin between Maru’s thumb and index finger as he raises the magazine to mask his paralyzed stare. The clear softness of it and malleable texture; he watches that strip of so very vulnerable skin vanish as Maru rests his palm on the page in front of him again. Doesn’t help really; Maru seems to be now quite well aware of Junno’s presence thereafter.

The quick, semi-casual glances Junno gets now are soon thwarting this new, weird moment of hand-voyeurism.

He grimaces and turns his gaze to the magazine. It’s an article on biology. Another morose sigh.

“What are you reading?” The question is directed at him though Maru doesn’t deign to look up.

Junno scans the page quickly. “Something about chest pains induced by a person’s rib cage … I… I don’t want to read this.” He tosses the magazine aside and this merely results in Maru leaning back from his picture and surveying him steadily, right arm coming to rest on the back of the sofa, hand hanging listlessly, fingers curled up.

Junno chews his lip and looks away. He’s hyper-aware of the others taking forever…

“You’ve got twelve pairs,” comes the sober declaration.

“Eh?”

“Twelve pairs,” Maru continues, “Your ribs—sit up—“ he orders suddenly and Junno shoots up in his seat, feeling the immediate razor-sharp relay to his senses when Maru’s fingers dip against the creases of his chest, moulding to the spaces between his ribs under his arm. He stops breathing as those angular fingers tickle down his side; a ringing deafens him as he watches Maru mouth the numbers, treading loftily to perfect twelve.

Cotton is _way_ too thin a material.

Junno gazes a little awestruck as one knuckle grazes under his bottom rib and appeals a playful impression. He’s been ticklish since he was a child and it makes him squirm a bit, legs kicking out and hands grabbing at cushions beneath him. “Stop~!” he says, not meaning that at all.

Maru’s laugh has a tiny edge of satire to it. He scoffs as it were, but only offers a frank tap against Junno’s chest. “Those spaces I just touched contain the stuff that holds your ribs together; when they become inflamed, your ribs slip and poke at other things. Yours are intact and you’ve all twenty-four. So you’re human after all; I _had_ wondered.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Junno’s grinning as he straightens, but his own tone sounds foreign to him.

Maru shrugs, eyebrows quirking up sardonically. “Relieving your curiosity, I guess.”

This is an amusing statement—well—Maru is funny in an understated manner: all dry humour and tentative jibes that take Junno a second to latch onto. Junno loves surprises like that. Maru’s hand falls dormant to the couch between them as he looks absently at the clock and Junno considers how invasive that touch felt. Those fingers are not really like any other he’s seen. He wants to gaze at the skin of Maru’s palms; something very taboo about the vulnerability of that particular expanse of living silk.

Of course, Junno so naturally thinks a lot quicker than he can reign in an impulsive gesture; this backfires on him quite often since mere seconds pass by the time his inhibitions and embarrassments drop for the id within.

The spaces between Maru’s fingers are hot to his knuckles and his own hands are wider, cloaking the entirety of Maru’s hand. He curls in and grasps, fitting in snugly and obtrusively

“What on _earth_ …” Maru starts indignantly, making to pull away.

“Sorry, I just _really_ like your hands… I wanted to know what this felt like,” Junno supplies promptly. It made so much more sense in his head.

The lights of the green room are buzzing and the faint echoes and deep booms of music down the hall hold a communion with the seconds between them. Maru’s middle finger moves, slides just on the inside of Junno’s forefinger. He’s unsure whether this is by accident, but it is just as oddly exciting, penetrative.

“Well,” Maru finally says—his tone is one Junno’s never heard-- and Junno would later swear to himself the slight tilt on the corner of Maru’s curving full lips is intrigue, maybe sheer gratification. Yet, in their most exquisite moment together, the door clacks open. Junno releases Maru’s hand as Ueda steps in quietly.

He enters and goes for his bag, ignoring the two of them. He only looks up as he brings his water bottle halfway to his lips. “You two were totally holding hands just now, weren’t you?”

“Don’t be absurd,” Maru returns calmly, rising. His wordless Zen sits in the room even when he walks out.

 

 

Junno spends the remainder of the day thinking about not just Maru’s hands, but Maru. Because while Junno can’t help inadvertently watching, Maru begins operating like someone with a rapt audience. He notices how Maru’s hands sit on his narrow hips when he pauses mid-thought. He notices that even when he scratches absently behind his own ear, it’s with one careful ring finger.

Junno likes grace especially, likes it the way other guys like motorbikes. Raised a dancer, movement and ginger steps electrifies the “connoisseur” in him. Maru’s whole entire straight-cross frame echoes ribbon-partiality. He’ll twist like he’s held on ropes and Junno smiles compulsively. His gestures are not even effeminate; just language and art. So good.

His conundrum is contained within his inability to simply watch something excellent. He wants deeply to be part of it. He wants to _mingle_ with it a little.

The day is over and they’re all walking back to the green room. Junno wants a shower; maybe clean the cling of desperation off.

“My shoulders hurt a bit,” Kame remarks to the hallway in general. “My chiropractor is set on improving my posture.”

Maru makes a sympathetic sound. “Try not slouching when you sit for a while. We can’t all have naturally good posture.” Junno is only half-listening until he feels a slender finger rake up his spine, tailbone and upward. “Like Taguchi.”

His own shudder surprises him and his skin immediately thrums with blood pounding and white heat. Any more of that is a quick route to something dire and embarrassing. He picks up his steps and only pauses long enough in the green room to grab his towel.

 

 

The cold water is striking but he braces his palms on the tiles as it drenches his hair and rolls down his neck and back. He allows it take him to some blind, numb, freezing place where he doesn’t know the hot, softness of the deep parts of Maru’s fingers, where he doesn’t think of how those would feel, pads of fingertips scrambling over his back, kneading his skin, clutching him.

He’s just resignedly turning the hot water tap on when he hears the scrape of shower curtain rings behind him. He turns, blinking against the curtain of water falling on him and there is Maru, clad in just his towel, stepping into the small tile enclosure with him. His finger is pressed to his lips, other hand holding a small shaving pack between two fingers, the rest tugging the curtain shut behind him.

Maru steps toward him. Junno makes a sound of questioning, reaching for the tap, and quenching the now steaming flow. Maru’s considering look is cautious, but his eyes are narrowed a little. They’re suspicious like always or maybe even just defiant. “I don’t know why it was different when you said you liked them.” he states severely. “Then what you did in the green room earlier…and you wouldn’t stop staring, so I—“

Junno doesn’t move. Maru’s hand comes up, seems to want to rest on Junno’s rising chest, but falls to grip his upper arm instead, crushing the drying drops on his skin with a heat entirely different. It’s such a strong grip for a structure so delicate, surely to be reckoned with. The idea makes Junno smile like a fool.

“I wanted to know how they felt… I still want…” Junno trails off, fist still gripping the tap. Other hand uselessly at his side. He isn’t sure how to word it without scaring Maru off. Men like Maru are shy, which is fine. Junno very much likes shy.

They’ve been whispering. It’s burning unbearable to have him this close with such coursing, vivid fantasies gripping Junno’s mind.

“Just this once,” Maru says. He sets his pack on the small soap shelf before sliding palms up to Junno’s shoulders and Junno reaches up quickly, catching his wrists. Ah, and they’re like animate porcelain, but racing with a pulse keeping up with his own. He doesn’t break eye contact with Maru, who can only find it in him to squint a little with a very Maru-like nervousness. Junno’s thumbs finally trace the pounding pulse and it’s even more empowering than he thought. Junno closes the distance, leans forward, crushing his lips to Maru’s.

Of course he lets go of those wrists because as he nips at Maru’s lips, fingers trace his throat and reach upward to cup his jaw to tilt him downward. The greed in the gesture melts him, makes him feel the chord of what could be a union. They meet and Maru’s tongue brushes over his. The strange foreign nature of it gets him, flat chest locked to his, terrycloth towel brushing his thighs and half-hard cock.

They’re no longer on the brink of the unfamiliar, but in its scariest, most immersed state. The _just this once_ condition of Maru’s palms rushing down his naked hips makes Junno feel more reverent. He threads his own fingers into Maru’s hair, opening his mouth for him, associating the invasion of Maru’s tongue with the way he’s being imprinted from the front of his hips to the upper curve of his buttocks by dull scraping nails.

When he feels fabric graze his arousal, he reaches down and pulls the towel off its knot and Maru’s knuckles kiss the line of his stomach running downward to trail hot fingertips, close over the base of his cock. Junno breath catches as he feels Maru grind his own hips forward, penetrate the curve of his own palm and finally grasp them together. The satin friction of them together and the urgency of Maru’s palm catapults him forward, wrapping his arms, enfolding to grind into this enveloping world of tight heat. The simple squeeze of Maru’s soft palm is murder to Junno and they thrust at the same time, dredging a pull of gorgeous, fibrous friction and that’s all Junno wants forever.

Their kiss breaks as the continuous abrasive claim of skin on skin renders him gasping into Maru’s hot mouth. It’s his abrupt moan—easily echoing off the bare tile walls of the entire shower room-- that earns him a not-so-merciful clap of another palm over his mouth. He winces, but is still silenced by the renewed brush of Maru’s fingertips over the tip of his tongue and he’s soon tasting water droplets and salt.

Maru’s demanding low murmur of, “someone will hear!” in that pain-filled, breathless fashion still ringing with the usual impatience sets him ablaze. Perhaps next to the naked sound of the taps dripping and surprisingly echoing resonance of softer skin over now wet, slick skin, Maru’s voice is cadent. Symphonic.

While he’s shuddering into Maru’s fist, he tries to keep in time so he can feel it, the head of Maru’s cock, gliding over his at just the most beautiful moment. That’s more perfect than anything and the rhythm crashes something maddening into his limbs. What mangles him thereafter is Maru’s pause, mouth now open and panting against his throat, runs a slender thumb in an ardent circle over the base of his cock, supplying a dizzying sensation.

Maru’s hand is still clapped to his mouth, but it’s moist with condensation, clouding Junno’s senses with only heat and a shaking suffocation, makes each dart of his hips heady and deafening.

Hungering for just more of it all, Junno’s arms loosen and race down. He reaches for the backs of Maru’s thighs and drags them upward against his hips, involuntarily thrusting at the sensation of delicate bones and soft flesh against his waist. It actualises a new slide of skin, Maru’s cock crushed to his stomach. He bears the weight and turns, twists them so that Maru’s back slaps harshly against the wall.

It’s sharp and the clear shock of pain makes Maru clutch him precisely the way Junno wants, one gorgeous hand now braced to his jaw line and chin and other clapped to his back, fingers digging painfully, bruising hold. Junno holds in Maru’s knees against his ribs as he makes the wall bear some of the weight. He has to manage a great deal of will power with his palms cupped over Maru’s upper thighs, the curve of his ass slipping over his cock as Maru, hardness gaining an element of a harsh brush against Junno’s lower stomach, buries his mouth in Junno’s collarbone.

Choking on stilted breaths, Junno undulates helplessly-- groaning voicelessly-- unable to take the unmoving ache. He feels some numb-skinned relief when he hears Maru knock the soap tray down as he reaches for his shaving pack one-handed.

Maru’s soapy fingers graze his as he slips a tube into Junno’s palm cupped around his thigh. Junno braces his legs, spreading Maru’s thighs so he curls in with some strike of pain. He loves the pertness of Maru’s skin around his buttocks, the way he has to press his bicep against the tapered fragility of Maru’s trembling torso in order to reach back and down, run his index finger over the lid while squeezing, managing to discharge a sizeable amount of lubricant.

With the first finger, Junno feels Maru grit his teeth against the skin of his throat, nails now digging deeply into his spine. “Turn….turn-- _ah_ \-- on the water; I don’t think I can be…” It sounds like a vulnerable whine as Junno goes in slowly, savouring the resistance and tightness, knowing it’ll be around him soon.

The water is nearly scalding on contact and after all these seconds of halted cries and muffled moans, their synchronised cries open Maru when Junno’s middle finger grinds in by momentum. Maru makes a very low, long aching song and his cock twitches between them. “Hurry!” he finally hisses, arching so his stomach flutters.

Junno steps back a little so that Maru’s upper back remains cleaved to the wall and he is looking at the expanse of Maru’s body in front of him as he brings Maru’s knees in a precarious balance over his arms.

He sees the fear-- laced with a very basic, wild look-- that simmers in Maru’s gaze right as Junno raises his cock to push in, implacable moan thrumming out of him. “Don’t you dare drop me,” Maru says darkly.

Obedient nod. Shutting his eyes, he can’t even reign in the course of bliss raking through him, blistering his reactions with the quiver of Maru’s insides. It’s like he imagined it, only Maru’s palms brace his shaking biceps, running almost lovingly down the tensed muscle, dragging frightened, yet delicious trails upward, with each of Junno’s thrusts. Once again, those knuckles, all piercing angles and effortless invasion, kiss over his fingers as his thrusts speed up and their fingers finally interlace when Junno can’t bear the weight any longer.

He spreads his legs, braced fully over the wall so Maru can wrap one arm around his neck and Junno can press Maru’s other wrist to the wall, feel that soft palm clinging so thinly to his. Maru seems unaware of this as the grind of Junno’s body over him--aligning them in what feels irreversible-- casts his head back, eyes shut, dark brown hair clinging with steam moisture to the white tiles.

Junno can tell Maru is close from the way his body is involuntarily tensing and climbing Junno. He refuses to let go of that touch so he takes their interlocked fingers and presses Maru’s palm between their stomachs, coaxing Maru to touch himself, his own hand guiding their lusty rhythm.

It's almost as though Maru's subsequent strokes make them heave together. The grazing lick of Maru's knuckles, as he tugs himself off in turning patterns, and Junno's blind thrusts both precipitate a frank momentum of a strange, deep, dream-like purpose. This hot water, gasping, body-colliding enclosure has become an existence entirely bound in flooding heat and a desperate need for end.

When Maru comes, his whole frame locks up around Junno and it’s carnally perfect; the new frustrated glide of penetrating him. Junno’s blood races as slender fingers curl around his waist, full-lipped mouth now sliding and kissing his jaw, guiding Junno up to his own finish.

It’s affectionate in a very throttling way and Junno, on the cusp of some dark, glorious ravine of release, moans when their tongues meet again. Maru nuzzles him when he breaks and Junno feels a riot of shattering go up his bones and burst in slick life from his middle downward. Maru clutches him tight, intensifying the moist press of breathing skin over Junno’s own singing pores.

Junno’s dizzy from the afterglow, letting Maru slide down off of him, the both of them slipping under the shower head. He takes a few more kisses, still trying to swallow the remaining ring of the floating wanton release Maru gave him.

 

 

When they both step out of the still steamy shower room into a near empty green room, Junno is puzzled to see Ueda there. He’s angrily flipping through the same magazine Junno had been looking at before. He looks up with some annoyance when the door opens.

“You weren’t waiting for the shower, were you?” Maru asks with would-be nonchalance.

Ueda gets up, grabbing his towel, and shower bag a bit huffily. He snaps, “Took you long enough. I was worried if I went in there, I’d catch you two idiots _holding hands_ again.”


End file.
